The Darkest Night
by GarGoyl
Summary: AU. Forsaken by his family in early childhood and sent off to Europe to become a servant of the Church, Alfred F. Jones has spent his whole life fighting evil and hoping for nothing. Now faced with a dangerous mission, little does he know that a forbidden love will also cross his path, changing his fate forever. Rating will go up for violence and lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N - Hello everyone! (OMG, I should probably google new greetings or something…) This new story is the USUK version of something I've been working on for some time now, but it fits like a glooove! It is very loosely based on _Hellsing Ultimate_ and the movie _The Countess_. Indeed, as you may have guessed, several characters in this story are vampires (but don't expect any sparkling) :)))

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Warnings: This is a story I wrote for my inner demons and may not be for the faint of heart.

_Elizaveta (Erzsebet) Héderváry – Hungary_

* * *

He would have slept if he could. The priest seated in front of him was now talking about the weather – how the sun rarely showed itself this time of year and even throughout the seasons the weather would remain stubbornly gloomy in this countryside – at least that was what he'd heard, and what of the crops? How could people travel and merchants transport their goods when the roads were said to get full of a soft, sticky sort of mud, so deep that one could easily lose a boot in? That was sure to be bad for his already poor health, this insufferable chill that would slip even through the thickest clothing and he could feel it already.

Alfred nodded politely from time to time, even muttering something in acknowledgement of his companion's chatter on the awful conditions of Eastern Europe, but paying no attention. It was cold because it was winter, there was nothing new to it, as for his boots, they were already worn and dirty beyond imagination anyway. He didn't care much about the weather or this country as it was, it was just another mission. When he was very young and he'd left the constricting walls of that small French monastery behind for the first time, Alfred had felt a great deal of excitement indeed, but since then he'd done a lot of travelling and the long hours in a crammed carriage had become more and more tedious. For a nineteen year old, his life had been fuller and more adventurous than of most people his age, but it was hardly a solace for one destined to be thrown around by fate, without a past and without a future, only with sorrow. He hardly remembered the day when, a little boy of five, he'd arrived at the monastery in Provence which was to be his new home, after a very, very long journey by sea. But he was a stranger and a nobody, he didn't fit in with the others and soon, as his intended training progressed, his weapons became his only friends. It made sense in very bitter way, the two pistols and the knife up his sleeve were his only worldly possessions, aside from two changes of clothes and a small silver rosary wrapped around his left wrist – that and his own thoughts on the mission to come, which might very well have been his last.

Indeed, it was very likely in his line of work. Many servants of the Church had perished fighting the bloodthirsty monsters he was hunting and it was – in the back of his mind the American had no doubt about it – the way he would probably meet his end too, maybe even before becoming a full-fledged fighter. And so this journey held no excitement for him, if anything only dread. Half-lidded blue orbs swept wearily over the dark landscape unfolding beyond the carriage window as he was more and more tempted to doze off.

"William?"

The voice of his older companion brought the young man back from the borders of sleep and he nearly winced. "Forgive me, Father, did you say something?" After all these years he still felt a like a cold needle shooting through his insides at hearing _this name_. This name, for it still wasn't his own. William Stone was nobody. _Nobody's son and nobody's father, nobody's husband and nobody's brother, _so the tale went_. _And he _wasn't _William_._

"You look tired, William. I am sorry that you couldn't even rest properly after your last assignment, but there was no time," said the priest. "For what it's worth, you could see this as an appreciation of your work so far, the fact that Braginski has chosen you. You know, the bishop really is a special man, with much initiative. And a lot of courage, I might add."

"His choice honors me, of course. I've heard he's a very brave man."

Alfred though it was worth making an effort to please his mentor, Father Bonnefoy. But he had not heard that much about Bishop Braginski, other than that he was known for his stubbornness and resilience. Not so much for successful exploits though, in fact it was remarkable enough he was still alive after doing this for as long as he had and as recklessly as they said he did it. It was a complicated affair, the one they were currently delving into, he was a Catholic, the Russian bishop was an Orthodox and the one they were after was (or rather, had been) a Protestant, but the matter at hand required cooperation.

"You do realise though, this is a very risky pursuit," the older man went on. "Countess Héderváry's family is under the protection of the emperor, who has always dismissed the rumors about them, he has even dismissed the plainly proven facts. Obviously, he would not believe – hardly anyone would believe – the truth about her. His great-grandfather was on the throne in her time, after all."

The dirty-blond boy half-hugged himself, pulling the rough cloak tighter around his body – it was indeed getting colder. He hoped that at least where they were going there would be a warm bed waiting for him, in which to curl up and pass out for a few hours, at least.

"Risky…. Considering the implications, I can only hope that at the end of this we won't hang," Alfred muttered.

The Frenchman only laughed softly. "Ah, no. All I am saying is that nothing upfront can be done, but if we are to lose this confrontation, a much more horrid end awaits us. _She_ will hardly be satisfied just with seeing us hang, rest assured."

Some assurance this was… And his biggest concern – if he were to admit it plainly, but never to Father Bonnefoy – was that Alfred did not trust Bishop Braginski and his methods too much. From what he'd heard, the man was hardly subtle and if somehow they were to survive this mission, he would probably get them in trouble with the imperial authorities. Besides, some crap was better left unstirred, in his opinion. The Church was experienced in hunting down ghouls, but ghouls were mindless beasts driven only by thirst and even if their power was great, they would not use it with skill. A real _vampire_ was something they knew next to nothing about. And that wasn't the only problem, the Héderváry family had a lot of loyal _human_ servants, how were those to be dealt with? Thus, it was plain to him that Bishop Ivan Braginski was most likely stirring some crap much bigger than they could handle.

"I must confess I find the whole story rather baffling," he said after a while."Ghouls and the like usually appear in small, remote villages where people are plagued by all sorts of superstitions and affinities for magic and such. But from what I understood, countess Erzsebet Héderváry was an educated woman, she must have had the finest teachers… And her family was known to be very religious, too. How could such a thing happen?"

"All of a man's learning often fails him when confronted with worldly passions," the priest replied. "After the death of her husband, Elizaveta spent some time in Vienna and found solace in the arms of a man much younger than herself, the heir of a well-know Austrian family. There seemed to be a great love between them, but his parents had other plans. They chose a wife as young as he and even though the affair continued, the countess began to fear that her lover would soon abandon her in favor of his new wife, because she no longer had such freshness that only youth possesses. Somehow, she must have studied the books of necromancers or other such abominable writings and has made the choice to give her soul to the Devil in exchange for youth and beauty. It was no use though – the Austrian ended things with her anyway and the countess returned home, humiliated and chagrined."

The American did his best to stretch his aching legs in the crammed space between the seats, stifling a yawn. "And that was it?"

"No. A few months later the young man and his wife were gruesomely slaughtered in their house in Vienna together with all the servants. _That_ was it. There was no proof that it might have been the countess' doing, but… there's plenty of reason to believe that it was her."

Silence fell afterwards and Alfred was grateful. For some reason this whole intrigue had upset him, this tale from what he would call 'the world of the living'. And maybe it had stirred some old, deep-buried memories inside him as well. At any rate, there was no use dwelling on it, on all the how-s and the why-s, the essential was that Erzsebet Héderváry was now a creature they were supposed to hunt and bring down. _But not tonight, not tonight._

* * *

It was well after midnight when the carriage eventually stopped. Feeling rather numb after the long hours, Alfred moved to open the door and glanced out, grimacing as the cold air stung his nostrils. They were in a pitch dark courtyard, barren and unkempt, in the back of which he could see a large but austere looking parish house – at least that was what he assumed it was. Two torches burned on each side of the double wooden door, which seemed unusually solid and reinforced with iron bars. It looked quite ominous, especially since there was no one in sight.

A man eventually came out through the door - just as the boy was helping his older companion descend – and Alfred stared at him a bit. Said man was quite young himself, a mess of curls shadowing his forehead and his body was lean under the tattered black robe. But his walk was sort of stumbled and darn, he wasn't hurrying at all.

"Please forgive me, I had fallen asleep watching the road. And be welcome, father, brother. I am brother Heracles," the young man said, taking a bow and leaning to kiss Father Bonnefoy's gloved hand. "I am to take care of all the arrangements…"

The priest patted his shoulder lightly, allowing him to take his travel bag. "I hope all is well with Bishop Braginski?"

"Oh yes, thank God. As soon as you're settled, His Holiness will join you for a late dinner."

* * *

Bishop Ivan Braginski was an odd fellow, Alfred thought, eyeing his almost cold stew without appetite. The man was rather young (maybe too young for such a rank?) and had a bulky sort of build, more suited for a different kind of occupation, perhaps something involving hard labor. Perhaps he was a strong, resilient fighter, the American thought, thinking of the heavy hand which had been laid onto his shoulder as a welcome. But in complete contrast to that, Braginski was incredibly soft spoken and appeared very gentle.

"Anyway, there is a new murder occurring almost every week now," the bishop said, pulling Alfred back from his thoughts. "Therefore you see, measures must be taken and this situation dealt with. I daresay it's almost like this land is suffering of plague."

His companion sighed, taking a slow sip of his wine (at least the wine was good here, not too sweet, not too dry and it would help him sleep better). "It is most unfortunate, indeed," the priest agreed. "I was telling William on the way here about the murder in Vienna… how that poor young man and his wife were found slaughtered bestially… it is such a shame…"

"Actually," Ivan pointed leaning back his chair, "Roderich Edelstein's body was never found. They only found some torn, bloodied pieces of clothing which were presumably his and one shoe… but not the body. So it was only _assumed_ he was dead too, da."

Alfred gasped, genuinely surprised at that. "But… do you believe he could be alive, then?" he asked without thinking. Of course Roderich Edelstein could not have been alive after all this time, it had all happened almost a hundred years before. The American inwardly cursed his big mouth, which somehow never failed to embarrass him.

"Well, not alive, surely, but _un_-dead, da. I have thought about this possibility," Braginski admitted. "It's possible that the countess may have wanted to keep her lover forever by her side. However, that is hardly important. If he has indeed become a Nosferatu, then there can be no salvation for him."

The bishop's sense of practicality was somehow reassuring, Alfred thought. He didn't seem to be interested at all in the whole drama, but rather solely on the outcome of it and he was only counting his potential enemies.

"Forgive me, Your Holiness," Father Bonnefoy suddenly said. "It is very late and I believe we should retire. There will be plenty of time to talk things through in the morning."

The bishop only nodded with a light smile and they were afterwards led to their rooms by a very sleepy looking Heracles. The American briefly looked around his – it was small and austere, pretty much like all the rooms he'd been sleeping in for as long as he could remember – but it was clean and neat so he reckoned it would do. It was cold enough for the boy to throw the cloak over his nightshirt and wrap himself as tightly as possible in the rough blanket, but as soon as his cheek touched the cool pillow, he was fast asleep.

_**To be continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

A/N - Hello everyone! That you so much for all the favs and follows! Anyway, the first chapter was more like an introduction and we are yet missing one very important character! He will be asleep in this chapter though and no, I'm talking not about Greece :))) Greece will – most surprisingly – continue to be awake, despite his minor role. That being said, enjoy and let me know what you think will happen next ;)

* * *

Braginski's headquarters turned out to be more than an austere parish house, as it had seemed at first. There were even a training room, equipped with all sorts of weapons, a vast library with countless books on the subject of the occult – to such extent that Alfred wondered if a priest should have really delved in such dept in this sinister domain – and (much to his relief) other recruits as well. He'd feared that the Russian bishop had placed his hopes, whatever those hopes were, on him and him alone. After all, despite his relative experience on the matter, he was still in training. Thus, the presence of the other men was reassuring, especially now that Father Bonnefoy had gone back after only a short visit, leaving him all alone among strangers.

As they walked down the halls on their little introductory tour, Ivan's heavy hand never leaving his shoulder, the American genuinely wondered if the other man's confidence in the anticipated success of his mission wasn't rather overstated. If Father Bonnefoy's account had been exact, then they were clearly up against something almost impossible to deal with. _Something others have apparently tried to deal with before and failed miserably…_

"Your Holiness-" the blond boy began, struggling on how to phrase his ardent question.

"Ah, no! 'Father' will suffice, da? I've always believed that formalisms only get in the way."

The American nodded shyly. "Yes… Father. I couldn't help wondering…. I mean I've heard- No, actually Father Bonnefoy has heard that others have attempted to… do something about the matter at hand, but the only outcome was failure…"

"Those are light words to put it, I believe," Braginski replied with a soft snort. "The outcome wasn't failure, the outcome was that they all ended up dead. But my child, as mad as that attempt may seem to you, perhaps even foolish in the circumstances, I assure you that it was by no means unjustified, da."

Saying that, the bishop opened the back door and revealed a small gravel path, which crossed the backyard and led to a sort of chapel stuck to the high brick wall which surrounded the parish house. The small building, made of roughly cut, blackened blocks of stone covered in reddish moss looked quite foreboding. Ivan headed in its direction with determined footsteps, the American following reluctantly and half-guessing what his new superior wanted to show him.

"We use it occasionally as a morgue, to study some of the corpses and find out…well what we can, at least maybe who they were. Not all of the discovered victims were from around here. And since the last girl was found only yesterday morning, the body is still here and I thought you should take a look, da?"

It wasn't a question really and Alfred stiffened. He had clearly brought this upon himself by doubting their purpose, no matter how subtly or politely phrased. And now he was to see _a body, _just as he'd feared. He'd seen plenty of corpses until now, but it was ever an unsettling sight. The American drew one last breath of fresh air before Braginski led him inside and he was confronted with a simple wooden table on which a heap of something lay hidden under a stained piece of cloth. The stale air was filled with a sickly scent of decay and Alfred's hand instinctively flew to his mouth as he stared in anticipating horror. The bishop however appeared entirely unfazed as he lifted the cloth.

"It isn't much of a body left, da… I think she couldn't have been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen… Before they used to bury them, but now with the frozen ground and all, the wolves were left to take care of it."

"And… all the victims were girls?" the younger asked randomly, aware that his back was now stuck to the cold wall as he tried to look anywhere but at the gruesome looking remains.

Braginski seemed oblivious to his distress. Or maybe he was doing this on purpose? Had the others ended up like this as well? Would _they_ too end up like this, half devoured by beasts, a miserable heap of torn, putrid flesh?

"At first, yes. The girls' blood was crucial to the rejuvenating rituals, as I have later discovered from reading more widely on the subject, but later on – especially after some fuss was made – male victims appeared as well, da. Nowadays there are all kinds, I'm afraid." Much to the boy's relief, the bishop finally replaced the cloth on the body, sparing him of the view at last.

"Earlier, you mentioned the others…" Braginski added, stepping to replenish the oil in the small lamp burning discreetly in a corner. "Yes, there was a pastor who was first alerted by the increasing number of dead servants from the castle and later by the corpses turning out in the woods, but he and his merry friends were uninspired enough to write to the authorities in Vienna. First they were ignored, then their letters were intercepted by the countess' men. The pastor was killed by a supposed robber in his own bed, then the others followed, one by one. The last of them – a rich merchant – gathered up some armed men and even attempted to assault the Héderváry castle. You can easily imagine how that one ended. Now come…"

Alfred was grateful for the fresh, albeit very cold air and for the pale rays of afternoon sun, once they were outside again, but it hardly made him feel any better. If anything, now his mortification was absolute. _Armed men?_ Well the bishop's small group didn't even qualify as 'armed men', let alone anything more, so what on earth was this man hoping they could do?

"I know, "Braginski said, guessing the unspoken question. "You are now asking yourself what it is that we have and they didn't, da? Well they did not have a plan to begin with and neither do I, as of yet. But their purpose was wrong to begin with - they sought to defeat the Héderváry family as a whole, to turn everything upside down, start a riot if needed, while I have no such intention. I have no wish to set fire to no home or spill the blood of my fellow men, however corrupt their ways may have become. I only want to kill Erzsebet and her Austrian – if he has indeed been turned – because they are already dead and the dead should not rise from their graves to rob innocents of their lives. And yes, I do have something they did not have."

* * *

The young apprentice had no desire to be shown what else Bishop Ivan Braginski had in store, aside from what he'd seen already. Most likely something equally sinister, as he was now led down the narrow and worn stairs of the basement. The Russian had only brought a small candle to light the way as they descended, forcing his newest recruit to feel the damp walls with his hands almost blindly as he followed. At the bottom of the stairs there was a solid door with a heavy looking key resting in the lock, but which Ivan maneuvered with unexpected ease. To his further surprise, a warm glow of candles came from beyond the door.

"Now, there's nothing to fear, William. Everything is under control, I shall explain it shortly," Ivan reassured, motioning for his companion to step inside.

Unfortunately, the American found no comfort in the bishop's words as he let his gaze wander around the room. It was bare, rough unwelcoming stone all around, no furniture and no windows, only a medium-sized chest in one corner, under one of the large candles fixed on the wall and… a coffin.

"No! No!" Alfred cried before he could help it, drawing backwards, his eyes still inescapably glued to the dark, polished wood which reflected the dancing flames almost like a mirror. He really shouldn't have shown such weakness, he wasn't a scared little boy, but still…could it be? Maybe his imagination was too wild, maybe-

"It's all right, he sleeps during the day. And I have taken precautions, there's absolutely no danger," Braginski said softly, confirming his most bewildering suspicions. The priest kneeled in front of the coffin and motioned for him to come closer. "I assure you, there's nothing horrible inside, quite on the contrary, da."

But the blond boy cared not about such details, as he stepped forward on shaky legs. The thought that the bishop kept _a vampire _in his house was simply unthinkable. _How is that even possible? And even if it is, has he gone completely mad? _If that was the Russian's secret, he had clearly not wanted to know it or be forced to keep it, for that matter. Was Braginski studying the creature? Was that even a sane explanation? Nobody had ever captured a ghoul for example to study it, it was absurd!

Ivan lifted the coffin lid slowly, carefully, as if not meaning to disturb, revealing a boy around Alfred's age sleeping peacefully inside. The American was confused, a scowl creeping onto his face as he stared. This wasn't some sort of joke, was it? Ghouls looked decrepit, even rotten, repulsive looking, their flesh of grayish coloring and covered with parchment-like skin. He was seeing no such thing now. The boy he was observing looked perfectly human, although some oddity seemed to reside in that very perfection. His skin, which was maybe a bit too pale, was flawless and every feature of his rather childish face beautifully chiseled, his light blond hair looked soft and silky. And vampires were supposed to be as dead in daytime, yet the boy was clearly sleeping – his head was tilted to the side while his arms rested casually onto the blanket which covered him up to his chest. He did not seem to be breathing though, but that was noticeable only at a very close inspection.

"Not what you would have expected after seeing ghouls and the like, da?" Braginski said suddenly, interrupting his observations. "Indeed, _real vampires_ are not as obvious as you might think and by no means monstrous. They look like everyone else, if anything they are more beautiful than everyone else. The perfect predators. Look at him, he's rather dainty, da? But make no mistake," the Russian explained, using his thumb to lift the boy's upper lip to reveal a very sharp canine. But even that was different from what Alfred had expected – the ghouls had large, wolfish fangs made to rip and tear, while the vampire's were smaller and delicate, like a cat's.

"A-are you sure he won't wake up?"

"No, they sleep very deeply during the day and besides, like I was saying, I've taken precautions. We've bound him with some spells to ensure his obedience, but before that we have used silver needles to significantly weaken his power." While he explained, Ivan gently picked up the boy's wrist and pulled up his sleeve. The American saw a pin headed needle stuck into the pale flesh right into the inside of the wrist and it turned out there were a lot of them, stuck into his body to drain his energy and hinder movement.

"But… don't they hurt him?"

Alfred didn't know where that question had sprung – why on earth would he care about that? The vampire was a monster after all, his very existence was an abomination. But observing the sleeping form, it was somewhat hard to think of him – no, to think of _it_ that way.

"Of course they hurt him, although by now I think he may have gotten used to them. They do not hinder him that much after all, but we needed to put them in, he'd be too powerful otherwise. Even if he obeys me fully, I cannot take any risks, my men need to feel safe with him around."

"_W-what?_" Alfred was dumbstruck. Was he hearing things? Bishop Braginski apparently allowed his 'pet' vampire to wander around the house! What else, he wondered in utter horror as the Russian gently ushered him out of the room, explaining that the American would meet his 'protégé' that very night, after dinner.

* * *

In the light of the events from earlier, dinner was a dismal affair for poor Alfred. This time he sat with the rest of the brothers in a sort of dining hall, beside Heracles. The Greek was really a laid back sort of fellow and chatted away about all sorts of things, but the blond could not bring himself to pay any attention and barely managed to put anything in his mouth, plagued as he was by the story Braginski had told him earlier.

Apparently the countess Héderváry was not the only vampire in the area, there had been another – a British lord who had mysteriously inherited land in these parts, a man renowned for his cruelty and viciousness. So black his heart had been that he'd turned his own orphan nephew, forsaking his poor innocent soul. Ivan had succeeded to discover the lord and his ward's resting place and captured them both. The beastly one they had slain without delay, but they had kept the boy, who happened to be surprisingly meek and docile. But why exactly had Ivan Braginski kept the boy _alive_, so to speak, was something he had yet to find out.

The idea scared Alfred to no end, even if he would not admit it. And thus he asked no questions, keeping his thoughts to himself. Was this as safe as Braginski had assured him? Would he even be safe in his bed at night? The American knew nothing of magic and binding spells (even the idea of the bishop using spells to make sure his 'pet' obeyed him couldn't have been any more 'unorthodox' and suspicious) and had no trust in them. Just where on earth had Father Bonnefoy delivered him?

Eventually the dinner was over and, after hastily downing two glasses of wine almost on an empty stomach, the apprentice stood from the table and said goodnight to Heracles and the brothers before heading to the library. Much to his chagrin, the wine had only managed to make him somewhat dizzy, but gave him no courage whatsoever.

Once in front of the small oak door, Alfred drew a deep breath and briefly smoothed non-existing creases on his black clothing before knocking softly three times. _Everything's going to be fine. Braginski will be there the whole time, he won't leave me alone, no he won't, he won't. Right!_

"Come in!"

The boy's stomach settled upon hearing the already familiar voice of the bishop and he pressed the knob with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Ah, William, you came," the Russian said, and Alfred though he caught a hint of hidden amusement in his tone. "Glad you joined us. Like I promised, it's time for you to meet Arthur," he added, motioning with his head to an armchair placed near the window.

_Promised? Is that supposed to be some sort of favor he's doing me?_

"Well then," the bishop stated, weighting a tome he'd just picked from a shelf, "I'll leave you two to get acquainted…"

_**To be continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

A/N - Hello everyone! Again, thank you so much for the reviews, favs and follows, they really make my day every single time! So… without further ramblings, here's today's update. Enjoy and let me know what you think ;)

* * *

Alfred froze as the door was closed behind him, his hands balling into fists at his sides and nails digging desperately into the heels of his palms._' I'll leave you two to get acquainted'? Is he mad, leaving me alone with the creature?!_ _Why would I want to- No! I know what this is, it's a test! Yes, Braginski is testing me, he must be testing me!_

The apprentice took a deep breath - having now found some sort of a logical explanation for the bishop's behavior – and willed his panic-blocked muscles to move. His gaze trailed warily around the large, candle-lit room as he advanced slowly, seeing no one yet. Eventually he spotted two armchairs in the back of the library, one of them empty and the other one facing the window. The tall backrest completely concealed whoever might have sat in it, therefore the American guessed the vampire must have been there.

At last the blond reached the empty armchair and plopped on the hard seat as if after a great effort. It took another few deep breaths before Alfred gathered the courage to look up at the other boy – who, as he had guessed, was sitting nearby. It was a bit ridiculous how curious and even shy he was, he'd seen the vampire already, but… _Not like this, though. _Arthur – if the American had gotten his name right – had an incredibly delicate frame and a very innocent, childish appearance, as he sat there reading, long golden bangs shadowing his forehead and his eyes. He wore only a light white shirt, black slacks and a pair of worn boots, but he probably wasn't bothered by the cold, Alfred thought, shivering a bit in his black woolen robes. Darn, the library was chilly and no wonder - there was no fireplace.

Slender fingers rested on the thick covers of the book, closing it slowly as the boy too looked up. The vampire shook a stray strand of hair off his brow as he finally took in the newcomer with large eyes which had the color of the first leaves of spring. Maybe it was Alfred's imagination, but he seemed slightly nervous.

"So… apparently you're _the one_," the boy said in a soft voice laced with a strong British accent, smiling lightly. "They say you are nothing short of extraordinary."

Rudely pulled from his initial awe, Alfred blinked in irritation. Bishop Braginski must have told his precious pet vampire God-knew-what about him and now the boy was clearly mocking him._ Damn!_ Of course, he couldn't have cared any less what the vampire thought about him, but the fear of the bishop's unrealistic expectations of him gripped him once more.

"My name is William Stone and I am just an apprentice fighter, that's all." he replied dryly, leaning back in the armchair and crossing his arms.

"Your name is Alfred F. Jones and you are the son of a nobleman, actually," Arthur stated seriously, pulling his knees to his chest. A shadow of amusement crossed his face for the briefest moment – most likely upon witnessing the other's expression of un-dissimulated horror. "But don't worry, I'll keep that to myself."

'_How do you know'? 'That's not true'? Should I even try to say any of that? No, it's pointless, he just knows. My God, he _knows_! What else does he know, just by looking at me? _The other blond shook his head, struggling to breathe through a new wave of panic. No, no, he couldn't show his fear, he couldn't allow himself to appear weak, this was what the test was about, wasn't it? Better to pretend he did not care about his secret being discovered. After all, it wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong himself.

"I _was_ all that, until it was decided that I can't be anymore. So now I am only who and what I just told you," the American said, licking his dry lips and assuming a stern countenance. "But still, you can't tell anyone." he added as neutrally as he could muster.

The vampire smiled gently, careful not to show any teeth. "Don't worry,_ William_. I promise to take it to my coffin."

Alfred sighed, mentally dismissing the irony and unable to help wondering whether Bishop Braginski had expressly asked his pet to test his patience. Perhaps he even knew about the boy's ability to… read minds, or whatever it was he was doing. Could he trust him to keep his secret from the bishop? Highly unlikely, but maybe the Russian would not find any interest in the subject and keep his mouth shut about it. He could only hope that. But anyway, now was not the time to worry about this.

"Well, isn't this the point where you tell me who _you_ are in turn?"

"Arthur."

"Just Arthur?"

"Yes. Do I scare you?" the vampire asked simply, his fingers rising to play with the small green gem adorning his right earlobe.

_Well, that's very forward… _"No, you don't," the American replied, willing himself to relax and sunk even deeper in the armchair. He must have given off that vibe, Alfred though, because he avoided looking straight into the other boy's eyes. But it wasn't because he was scared, Arthur couldn't have looked any farther from scary. On the contrary, like Braginski had put it – he was beautiful. _No, actually he is… breathtaking._ Of course, a most absurd thought to dwell on.

"Does Father Braginski scare you, then?" Arthur pressed, thankfully distracting him from previous reflections. He snorted softly.

"I am not scared of anything, Arthur. But I have to say that Father Braginski's plans… sort of concern me," he admitted, letting his gaze trail into the darkness beyond the window. "Of course, I was told of his extensive experience and… perhaps I am biased by my very ignorance in the matter, but I still think he's trying to… um…"

"To make a whip out of shit," the vampire stated neutrally, making Alfred almost flinch at the sudden vulgarity of the words. He had to inwardly admit though – they happened to be quite fitting.

"_Excuse me_?"

Arthur chewed a bit on his bottom lip, for the first time showing a perfectly white and very sharp fang. "It's an expression extensively used by the Valahs around here. It means trying to accomplish something with inappropriate or insufficient means."

"I guessed that, but I wouldn't put it that way," the other blond said bluntly."Father Braginski is my superior, a well-reputed man and I respect him. He may have too much faith in my skills though, that's all." _That and he's got no plan whatsoever…_

"And to think that nobody even knows how Erzsebet looks like," Arthur stated, fingers drumming lightly onto the covers of the book now abandoned on the armrest. "I suppose it must be difficult to hunt someone you don't know…"

Alfred had thought his nails would be black and sharp, like the ghouls'. They weren't. Instead they were short, had a pleasant ivory shade and appeared to be groomed to perfection. The American scowled, inwardly annoyed that his observations on the 'creature's' appearance were once more distracting him from the subject.

"What do you mean? Not even you? Father Braginski told me you lived in the same period as she did. You must have seen her, at least from afar!" Alfred wondered - was Arthur by any chance protecting the countess? Could it have been a vampire thing, to protect another from its kind? Or maybe he had known her and he had been fond of her? She was said to have been a lovely woman… Or maybe he just had no intention to help his captor…indeed, why would he do anything to help the man who'd stuck silver needles in his body? But then again, the bishop could easily force him into obedience with his spells, couldn't he? Not that Alfred understood anything on how the Russian's spells really worked...

"She never visited my uncle's court and my uncle wouldn't go anywhere on principle, so no, I have never seen her. Besides, while her husband was alive she barely ever left the castle - he was horribly and notoriously jealous – and after his death she spent most of her time in Vienna… So no, I don't know Erzsebet, but I've seen Ana Darvulia, her personal witch. _She_ used to visit my uncle."

The young apprentice felt very cold all the sudden. The countess had a _personal witch_? What in God's name was wrong with this land, with these people?! Bishop Braginski had never mentioned anything about that and his pet vampire spoke of it as if it was nothing out of the ordinary! Suddenly everything sounded like a bit too much for him, far weirder than anything he'd ever been confronted with. Maybe he should write a letter to Father Bonnefoy and ask him… ask him what? His mentor would be disappointed if he asked to be withdrawn from this assignment and besides, by the time the letter arrived to the destination it might already be too late. A weary hand rose to rub his forehead as he pondered on things, oblivious to the fact that the vampire was observing him.

"I must say - I really liked Darvulia back then and I really thought it was a pity that she had no interest for any man," the other boy said thoughtfully, interrupting his musings. "And I didn't think much about her witchcraft either…I certainly never imagined what she would end up doing."

Maybe he should have asked - for the facts' sake at least - what it had been that the woman named Darvulia had ended up doing, but there he was again – talking about it as if it were the most natural thing in the world! For some reason, the American found the whole thing, the whole _carelessness _which he couldn't help noticing, incredibly irritating.

"You know, earlier today I was taken to the chapel to see a corpse, or what was left of it anyway, while all Father Braginski had to say about it was something about the ground being frozen and…" the American burst out, shook his head in annoyance, "and I don't know, he was so very calm about it, like he didn't care at all that _someone died_! That girl, that innocent, young girl _died_! Most likely in a gruesome way! And there he was telling me about frozen ground and here you are, telling me some accursed fairytale about a pretty witch! Well I don't think this is a fairytale, I don't think this is a joke!"

The vampire grimaced. "Well, I'll have you know that somewhere in the course of events I ended up dead, so if_ it is_ a joke, it's a really bad one. And it's no fairytale either, I was simply told that you should know the facts. And Father Braginski, as much as I… well, don't think that much of him, he won't let himself driven up the wall by just any detail, he is here to solve a problem and is focusing on that."

"Oh yeah?! Well I think we're only here for the challenge, to succeed where everyone else has failed and _precisely_ _because _everyone else has failed!"

Letting out a rather loud breath, Alfred slumped back in the armchair, from which he had half-risen during his hearty speech, cursing his lack of control and his big mouth as he buried his face in his palms. Did he really have to say what he thought like that, out loud? Now there was no doubt that the vampire would report everything to his master, every single word of his would reach the Russian's ears. And then there would probably be consequences... When he looked up again, the apprentice saw a light smirk on Arthur's lips, as if the vampire had 'smelled' a challenge of his own.

"And why are you here, _Jones_? Is it not for your own score? After all, you already are a reputed ghoul hunter yourself. And I though you respected Father Braginski…"

"I do respect his achievements, but not his apparent purposes so far. And you should stop calling me that," Alfred grumbled ill-humoredly, crossing his arms defensively and facing the window. He was tired, this evening, no this day had been too long. He really needed to sleep. Just sink his head in the pillow and drift into unconsciousness, away from all worrisome thoughts.

The other boy sighed, stretching his legs. "I assure you, his purpose is just. A just cause for a fiery, passionate man like yourself – I can see why he has put so much hope in you. But I hardly advise you to express your views as openly as you did now in his presence. After all _Jones_, you don't know what he did before becoming a priest, so perhaps you should try not to get on his nerves..."

_What he did before becoming a priest? _Well, whatever it was, the American did not want to know. Bishop Ivan Braginski did look like someone you'd have expected to encounter in a tavern brawl rather than in a church and maybe he'd done some wild things in his youth, (things which the vampire must have dug out from the dark recesses of his mind) but it didn't mean anything. Or maybe everything was a lie, just another attempt to frighten him.

Excusing himself as coldly as he could, he stood up from his seat and left the room without another word.

* * *

Closing the door behind him and carefully spinning the key in the lock, Alfred eventually sighed in relief, finding the quiet of his small room incredibly soothing. Only now did he realize he'd been on edge the entire time, his muscles tense and his nerves strained to the point he now felt utterly exhausted. But had he at least passed the bishop's test? By the look of things, it all depended on the vampire and he could tell that Arthur was trouble. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that clearly spelled that – he had looked like an easy prey and now the bishop's pet would take any opportunity to torment him. _Darn!_

He changed quickly and slipped under the covers, curling up in a tight ball to warm himself up.

"_Go to sleep, Alfred F. Jones. You'll have the chance to prove yourself tomorrow," _a soft voice resounded in his head, just as his heavy eyelids finally closed.

_**To be continued**_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

A/N – Greetings my dear readers! So…*scratches head* what was about to happen in this chapter?... Ah, yes, I remembered. Time to bring about some action, because the crowd wants blood! Or something… So, without further ramblings, here it is. Enjoy and let me know what you think will happen next!

* * *

It was a dark morning, with weak pale light filtering through the windows and giving the austere parish house an even gloomier air than usual. The sky outside looked laden with thick grey clouds, foretelling a bleak winter day. Alfred had slept badly, tormented by all sorts of troublesome thoughts and waking up several times during the night, startled by the violent storm which had whipped mercilessly against the windows, hailstone rapping on the glass and wild wind shaking the sturdy wooden frame.

At least the breakfast had been somehow more animated than usual. For once not in his regular sleepy state, Brother Heracles was quite excited about today's practice and talked for nearly an hour, barely putting anything in his mouth. Since they were confined indoors due to the bad weather anyway and momentarily without a plan of action, Bishop Braginski had decided they should at least spend this time training. Despite their meek appearance, all the brothers were adept fighters - the American had been told – and their leader thought they should be in shape at all times.

Alfred wiped his sweaty palms off his simple black clothing as he headed towards the training room. So this was what the vampire had meant about proving himself, apparently. _The vampire…_ The previous night's encounter had shaken him somewhat and he'd found rather unsettling the thought that Arthur could read his mind and even speak in his head. If Bishop Braginski indeed controlled the boy it clearly meant that he had a powerful weapon on his hands, but who was he really putting it to use against? Did the Russian use Arthur to read the minds of his other men as well, keep them in check at all times? No, while part of it may have been true, he could not let himself be 'driven up the wall' with such thoughts!

And then there had been the talk of Darvulia, Erzsebet's _private witch_. But then again, Arthur had not mentioned her also being a vampire, so she must have been dead by now, wasn't she? But then why the mention of her? Just for the sake of testing or scaring him? Or maybe she had done something important, something the boy had wanted to tell him, but then Alfred had lost his temper and that had been it. Either way, it was a lot for him to wrap his mind about and in such a short time, too.

* * *

All the other brothers were already there and it turned out that with all the useless fidgeting with changing his usual robes with more movement friendly clothes while thinking of a million of other things he'd run late. And now all eyes were suddenly on him, some curious, others expectant but overall Alfred felt rather uncomfortable. He had never liked to be stared at.

Bishop Ivan Braginski was for once out of his formal robes, instead wearing a simple white shirt partially open at the front, black trousers and some heavy boots. Under the pristine fabric, his broad shoulders and muscular arms stuck out even more. _'You don't know what he did before becoming a priest, so perhaps you should try not to get on his nerves…' _Indeed, seeing the solid Russian now, Alfred had no choice but to mentally agree to what the vampire had said. The American was for the briefest moment under the impression that there was an amused (or maybe ironic?) smile playing on Braginski's lips and he flinched._ Maybe I did fail his test or God-knows what the creature has told him and now... now what?! _But after the fleeting smile and a discreet gesture for him to join the rest of the recruits, the bishop ignored him, beginning to explain what they were supposed to focus on when confronted with the creatures they were meant to hunt.

"Ghouls are very strong and resilient beasts, da, but they are notoriously slow, at least as far as an experienced fighter is concerned. That's why, when dealing with these creatures, speed is of the essence. Strike fast, hard and quickly move away, out of their reach," the Russian explained."But also, bear in mind that in this mission we might have to face the countess' armed, well-trained servants as well, although I hope it doesn't happen, da."

He walked towards the back of the room where, sunken in semi-obscurity, there was a wall-high panel filled with all sorts of weapons. The sharp blades gleamed wickedly in the dark, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Alfred hadn't spotted any practice straw dummy anywhere and worriedly wondered if they were going to use them against each other. But Ivan Braginski seemed oblivious to this little detail as he continued to explain, with his usual carelessness which was more and more bothersome, as he picked several of the dangerous items and handed them to a few of the brothers. However, most of them got some simple wooden canes. And then the bishop made a calling gesture, motioning Alfred to come forth.

"It is also important to realize that in most situations you may be in the position to confront several opponents in the same time." Braginski snapped his fingers and in a matter of seconds Heracles and five other brothers surrounded the American. Three of them were armed with long, thick canes, but the other three had short swords and axes.

"And now that Father Bonnefoy's _best apprentice_ William Stone is here with us, maybe he can show us some useful tricks. So don't hold back, da?"

It may have been just another fleeting impression, but the blond thought he'd caught a clear hint of irony this time in his superior's words. He'd known it! The darned vampire had certainly told Braginski about his little attitude fit and now he was being taught a lesson, no doubt. Maybe the bishop would go as far as to let his men give him a good beating, if he proved unable to keep them at bay. He took a deep breath - Braginski had advised them not to hold back, so that went for him as well. He would just have to focus like in any other mission and like with handling any other enemy.

Alfred had no other weapon but one cane, but in the end weapons weren't everything. Well, actually there was the small dagger he always carried inside his sleeve for emergencies, but he would not draw that against the brothers. Heracles and the others had admitted not having fought ghouls before, so that was possibly an advantage. He smiled lightly, making an inviting gesture as the men closed in on him, ready to strike.

The six brothers lunged forward, almost in the same time, brandishing whatever they were armed with, but the young apprentice dodged their first round of attack smoothly and gracefully. Then, a well placed kick broke Heracles' cane, another sent some other opponent flying, while a precisely aimed punch sent one of the brothers tumbling down onto the floor and dropping his weapons. Swiftly, he disarmed another and now with two canes it was even easier to defend himself. However, Braginski's recruits had some clear skills of their own and if anything they were resilient and relentless. There were already six of them continuously attacking and Braginski motioned for two more to join it. Now their strategy was clear – they were going to go on like this until he got tired and then 'finish' him.

"I know what you must all be thinking, da," the Russian said suddenly, "that ghouls would not gang up on their prey like that, that their dead brains are too thick to come up with even the simplest of strategies, but we may come across them in large numbers. They are an efficient weapon and unlike living servants they don't have to be armed, fed, clothed or paid. But the human servants of Erzsebet are as real as the pits of hell and – trust me – they will fight for her tooth and nail if they have to."

Unexpectedly, the little speech distracted his attackers and Alfred took advantage of their lack of focus to bring them down one by one. To his surprise, Heracles gave up last. Drawing his breath, the blond looked up at the bishop, anxious to assess the man's reaction. Ivan Braginski nodded and smiled benevolently at him, allowing the American to almost relax. _Almost_.

The tall, blond Russian sighed, stepping forward and crossing his arms thoughtfully. "It is important though to note that countess Héderváry (and possibly her Austrian too) are neither ghouls nor anything like their human servants. Vampires are _a different thing altogether_. " he stated. "Ghouls are ghouls, we can handle them. But first and foremost we are here to hunt and destroy _her_. Without her, the ghouls will perish and the servants will scatter. Without her, all this nightmare will be over."

Braginski paused, examining the faces of his men, as if trying to gauge their determination in the matter and worthiness when it came to the task. _Funny he should say that though, when he finds himself without a plan..._

"However, like I have told you before, trying to barge in mindlessly like a battering ram will not get us anywhere. Others have tried that and you know only too well what became of them, da. I will not have crows feed on our bones if I can help it and the only way is to outsmart this wretched woman one way or another. How? I'm afraid I still have that to figure out, but until then I think it would be useful if you were at least able to defend yourselves."

The bishop sighed again, walking up to the American and his heavy hand rested on the boy's shoulder. "Thus, you should know what you're up against."

As if on cue, the wooden door opened slowly, with a loud creak and Alfred saw the pale blond boy from the previous night poking his head in, throwing a glance around the room. Then the emerald-coloured eyes rested on him and the bishop curiously. The American inwardly tsked and rolled his eyes – had the obnoxious little vampire come to see whether he'd managed to get him in trouble with the bishop? And wasn't he supposed to be asleep during the day? He narrowed his eyes, but to his surprise Arthur instantly dropped his gaze to the floor, shyly.

"_You think I don't know what you're up to?_" Alfred thought, although he didn't know if the vampire would hear him.

"_No, you don't."_

The reply was unexpectedly blunt and the other boy didn't look at him.

However, Braginski seemed oblivious to that particular exchange, instead clapping his hands conclusively. "Right! William, you've done very well so far, I am impressed, da. But you and the others must see the real thing as well. Do you think you are up to this?"

The American ran a hand through his hair, now damp with sweat. So _that_ was what Arthur had meant... He searched both his superior's and his pet's faces for any sign of smugness, but found none. The bishop simply looked calm and relaxed, with no obvious emotion, while Arthur was pulling the shy act again (because he was sure now that it was an act), staring awkwardly at his boots.

"Very well. When you're ready," the American said, weighing his canes in his hands impatiently.

The Russian walked up to his pet and patted his shoulder gently, looking back and nodding. "He's ready. Come at him."

Alfred scowled – it was clearly a challenge. _'And why are you here, Jones? Is it not for your own score?' _Were they questioning _his _real purpose, whether he was here just to prove himself and seek advancement? And if so, how was he supposed to act? Well, it was a bit late now though to be second-guessing himself, since he'd rushed in and already accepted. And on top of it all the damned Englishman just stood there, with his arms crossed.

_Well, here goes nothing..._

Alfred lunged forward as fast as he could - hoping to take his opponent by surprise – and swung the cane, only to hit nothing but thin air.

"_Don't think I'll make this easy for you."_

He turned sharply, surprisingly avoiding to be grabbed by the collar by nimble fingers and once more attempted to strike. This time Arthur captured his right arm in a grip so tight and crushing that the American feared he'll hear his wrist snap any moment now. Not willing to let that happen to his other hand as well, Alfred hit him as hard as he could, but predictably it was no good. The other boy didn't even budge.

But then the vampire suddenly released his wrist, hand going straight for his throat and the very next moment the taller blond found himself pinned to the wall, feet dangling above the ground as he struggled for breath. The bishop was watching the scene in his usual mood, observant but not seeming willing to intervene and restrain his little beast anytime soon. The cane had rolled down on the floor and panic seized Alfred as he fruitlessly tried to free himself from the creature's grip with bare hands.

It was his luck that from the moment the idea struck him, he didn't think too much before putting it into application. He shook his left hand, grasping the thin silver rosary ended with a cross and and then pressing it forcefully into the vampire's hand.

The smell of burned flesh instantly reached his nostrils and Arthur hissed and dropped him, withdrawing his hand with a pained grimace. And then everything happened in the blink of an eye, Alfred – barely thinking and driven by his own horror - pulled out the small dagger and thrust it into the vampire's stomach to the hilt.

_**To be continued**_


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

A/N – Heyyy… I wish for once I could come up with something exciting to say… yeah not going to happen soon, so lose all hope. Therefore, without further ado, here's the new chapter. I should probably warn you though, things to come will not be for the faint of heart… And I do realise that Ivan may be a bit out of character in this story, but I believe that he too has a good side, as well hidden as it may be. So there!

* * *

The bishop was examining a thick tome lying open on his desk, flipping thoughtfully through the pages and muttering to himself every now and then. Alfred would have wished for the man to say something, anything, even a nasty scolding would have been preferable to this tension-filled silence. He'd been asked by Braginski to come in the library again, after dinner, so that they could discuss something in private. But now here he sat, perched on a hard, uncomfortable chair in front of the man's desk and had been enduring this tormenting uncertainty for the last half an hour at least. The American fidgeted, staring down at his hands.

"So, William… let's talk, da?"

The dirty-blond boy looked up startled, not expecting the sudden words after the other had ignored him for so long. But the Russian's purple gaze was perfectly calm and serene, if slightly curious. The same could be said about his whole expression, as he now held his fingers intertwined on top of the yellowed pages.

"Father, I know that I disappointed you," Alfred said quickly, hoping to get the chance to explain himself, although there wasn't much to explain as it was. "And I know it's not an excuse, but the thing is that I panicked and I… I…"

The bishop drew a deep breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his thumb against his chin. "Oh, no, I'm not disappointed. Maybe a tad confused, da, but… first of all, what has led you to believe that you've disappointed me?"

The American swallowed, resuming staring down into his lap. "Well I've… clearly overreacted and I hurt Arthur and… I can't help thinking what the brothers must have thought of me for carrying a knife up my sleeve, inside the house and all. They can only think I must be some sort of… brute."

Braginski's eyebrow shot up, and he appeared genuinely surprised at the suggestion. "Mm… no. There is nothing wrong with carrying a knife up your sleeve at all times, da, after all, this house is hardly a _stronghold_. I've never said we'd be perfectly safe while inside, have I? And you mustn't worry about Arthur either, da."

Not worry about Arthur? No, of course, he was a vampire and vampires healed, but still, all that blood...It hadn't been like slaying a ghoul and that had been so striking for Alfred, that the knife hadn't cut through the putrid flesh he was used to but instead warm, red blood had gushed from the wound, coating his fingers. It had just looked too real, like he'd stabbed someone very much alive and besides, he was quite aware of the pain he'd caused the boy.

"I know, but I just-"

"What concerns me though, da, "Braginski interrupted him, "is whether you really thought I'd let him hurt you. If we want this to work, I'll need you to trust me, William."

The American winced – how had the bishop read his mind? And could he say plainly, even to himself, that he didn't trust the man? Well, he hardly trusted anyone by default. The only person who had ever tried to get somewhat close to him had been Father Francis Bonnefoy, but there was a certain cold, calculating air about the man which had sometimes made Alfred's imagination picture him as a sorcerer manoeuvring everyone like pieces on his chessboard. And the boy knew himself to be just a tool in skilful hands.

The Bishop leaned back in his chair as an answer had yet to be given. "I don't really need you to say anything in return," he stated, observing the younger's inner struggle. "I realise that our means are questionable, but... I just do what I can, fully aware that in the end things might just go horribly wrong for all of us, da. That's why most of my men here have willingly chosen to do this job and I've made it my policy not to recruit anyone under twenty. That makes you an exception from that point of view also..." The ashen blond paused, his large purple eyes growing softer. "As for Arthur, it's a tragedy that he lost his life at such a young age and at the hands of his own relative... But he _is dead_, William, and we can't do anything about it."

Alfred took a deep breath, still not wanting to meet the other's gaze. Only now it wasn't out of anguish anymore, but rather from a sudden feeling of tiredness and being burdened with so much. Maybe Braginski wasn't really using the vampire's ability to read people's minds, maybe the man was simply insightful in a way which escaped his own understanding because he was too young.

"So, you are saying..."

"I am saying that you can ask to withdraw from this mission, considering that you haven't expressly made this choice, da," the Russian replied. "No, don't." he added as the boy had opened his mouth to protest. "I know that you think you're bound to go through with this because your situation. You think you owe it, especially to Father Bonnefoy, but please consider that if you die, he'll just be sad for a bit and then just send someone else. He offered help and I asked for his best, but I did not know that you were so young."

Alfred's lip trembled as he released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"I want to go through with it. And Father Bonnefoy does care about me!"

He didn't know why the sudden need to assert that, to blurt it out loud, as if going past his lips would reinforce those words, make them truer. No, it didn't matter, it didn't matter! He was a soldier of the Church, he'd been raised for it and wouldn't allow himself to falter in his determination and duty.

"Of course," Ivan Braginski said, standing from his chair slowly. Walking up towards the door, he paused briefly by the boy's side and let the backs of his fingers brush gently against Alfred's cheek.

* * *

Fingers nervously patted the wall as the dirty-blond boy stumbled down the stairs in the darkness, all the while asking himself why on earth he was doing this in the first place. But however rational the bishop's arguments, guilt ate at him and Alfred needed to make sure, to see with his own eyes that the little vampire was alright. Well, 'alright' was of course a manner of speaking...

It was midday now and while upstairs it had sounded like a remotely good idea to check on him, now in the darkness of the cellar the American was beginning to second-guess himself. Hands blindly found the heavy lock and he pushed the door open, briefly soothed by the faint but warm glow of the lone candle which was still burning on the wall. But the obscurity of the stone chamber was deeper than the first time he'd been down there and the place looked like a tomb more than ever. For the first time now though he noted a pair of boots placed neatly on the side of the coffin, but for some reason the small detail made everything appear far more horrific.

_Well, it _is_ a tomb..._

Like the first time Braginski had taken him down there, the coffin was closed. Alfred had frozen on the doorstep, fingers gripping the worn wooden frame as he stared at it. Maybe he had no real reason to fear the boy resting inside (and he wouldn't have won such an early reputation if he'd been a scaredy cat), but it was more than just regular, plain fear holding him in place now, stifling his every muscle. It was a much deeper sort of dread, as if his heart told him that what lay there was a thing so damned that the worst kind of doom awaited in its slightest proximity.

And yet, despite that silent but powerful inner warning, he willed his fear away. Light steps carried him closer and closer and he kneeled in front of the sinister crate, letting his hands wander a bit on the smooth, polished surface of the lid, almost like in a tender caress.

"_Arthur?_" he inwardly asked, shyly and honestly hoping that he wasn't intruding. But he clearly _was_ intruding, wasn't he? However, no answer came and a pang of worry shot through his stomach, decisively guiding Alfred's hands to the edge of the lid and making him open it all the way, in a brusque motion.

The vampire was asleep, or so he hoped. One hand bent under the slowly tilted head and the other resting on the blanket covering his body almost up to his shoulders, Arthur lay peacefully, his chest disturbingly unmoving. It was clear now that no breath left the pale lips. _But this isn't... of out order, is it?_ _It's daytime so he is fully dead during the day... But at practice...?_ The American stared, gaze trailing down the other boy's body and wondering if he should... what exactly?

Alfred then turned abruptly, looking past his shoulder anxiously as he thought he'd heard a faint noise coming from up the stairs. He waited, heart pounding madly in his chest – if caught he'd have some explaining to do as to why exactly he was down here – but it was nothing. Sighing softly, he turned back only to have his throat gripped viciously by a hand as merciless as it was dainty and find himself turned around and his back slammed into the nearest wall.

"You don't have even the slightest notion of good manners, do you? Creeping up like that!"

The dirty-blond had had the air kicked out of his lungs as he'd been sent flying and now pressed his heaving chest with both hands, trying to catch his breath. "'m sorry... unfamiliar... vampire etiquette..." Alfred tried to be sarcastic but the effect was entirely lost in the half-suffocated stuttering.

The Englishman now sat stiffly upright in his coffin, arms crossed and a sour expression which relaxed slightly as he rolled his eyes. "And what in the bloody hell are you doing here anyway?!"

"I'm sorry, okay?... about the other day, I didn't mean to... I just wanted to see if you were alright. A-and now I just called you through our bond, precisely because I didn't want to disturb too much, but then when you didn't answer... that was a bad sign. You know, like, not thinking anything? So I thought-"

A perplexed scowl crept on the vampire's face, making Alfred cease his rant. "Good God, I wasn't thinking anything and you sensed it through our bond!" He really looked like he was about to facepalm. Hard. "It's certainly not a bloody _bond_! It's a one-way thing, namely I read your mind – not that there's an awful lot to read anyway - and speak to your thoughts. You didn't really thing it was something you could reciprocate, do you?" Arthur snorted. "You didn't think you could read _my_ mind in turn?"

No, he hadn't really thought that. But how the hell was he supposed to know how these things worked anyway?! And now Arthur was going to be unpleasant, either because he was pissed at being thus woken up or simply because he was British – Father Bonnefoy had told him on several occasions that the British were insufferable – or both, but anyhow, this would not end well.

"No. I-I'm sorry," the American apologized as demurely as he could. "I just... this is all new to me and nobody really bothered to explain about this stuff. Again, I apologize."

"Bring me tea."

The dirty-blond's gaze shot up in complete bewilderment, both at the blunt tone of the request and at the object of it. "But you're a vampire, you don't drink tea! You drink...well-"

The mesmerizing green eyes blinked a few times, with the sleepy laziness of a cat, fixing him. "Simpleton! Of course I drink tea."

"Oh..."

"Black, with only a few drops of milk and no sugar. Do you understand?"

Alfred frowned. "I don't care how the hell you drink your damned tea, just as I don't care that you're the nephew of some lord! It's not my job to be your servant!"

The Englishman crossed his legs and slouched down, resting his chin in his hand. "No, but seeing how it will be my job to make sure you don't kick the bucket ahead of schedule in this mission, you might as well show some benevolence. Don't you think?" he stated innocently. Oh well, wasn't he the epitome of cuteness now...

"Fine... " the other blond agreed, sighing and shaking his head as he stood up and headed for the door. "Slave driver..."

_**To be continued **_


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

A/N – Hello everyone! As usual, a big thanks to all of you who took the time to read, review, follow and fav, in a word had the patience to stick with this… I know I promised some horrors and they are coming, worry not, just decided to delay them a bit more so this chapter will not be particularly scary... unless you count the new minor characters I'll be adding. Also, our beloved Arthur will be more in character from now on (whatever that means, because apparently the cute and shy act wasn't quite cutting it :))) So there, have fun!

_Valentin – Romania_

_Andrei - Moldova_

* * *

Obviously, the brothers didn't have any black tea. Tea and coffee were very expensive commodities in fact, but it hadn't occurred to Alfred at all at the time. It must have been some strange vampire magic in Arthur's gaze and his unusually gentle words, he pondered, watching the boiling teapot now placed over the fire with a scowl. Brother Heracles had provided some chamomile instead and it still was some sort of tea, right? He rolled his eyes and shook his head - only a few drops of milk, wasn't it? Now the greenish concoction took a positively unsightly appearance once the milk was added and a grimace crept onto the American's face as he stared at it. At best the little vampire would probably hurl the cup in his face.

"_Come outside, please."_

The voice in his head made the blond pause in his tracks in the middle of the narrow hallway, one hand clutching the tea mug carefully. Outside? He peeked through the back door, which seemed to have been left open on purpose. For once the weather was milder and even if the air was quite chilly, pale rays of sun caressed the frozen ground. _Sun?_

Deciding that probably nothing was too odd these days, Alfred stepped out in the back yard and into the cold winter day, steam rising from the still hot mug he was holding and from his breath. He tried to ignore the sight of the small stone chapel where Braginski had shown him the girl's remains – he could only hope they hadn't brought in any new bodies, not that he was planning to check. To his absolute shock, the Englishman was there, seated casually upon a log, one leg placed gracefully over the other, looking expectant. A few pale rays fell onto his sheet-white face and in his blond bangs, making the light green of his eyes appear even more striking.

"B-but the sun… won't you…?" the dirty-blond boy stuttered, eyes wide in horror as he drew closer cautiously. He'd thought the vampires would burst into flames instantly upon being touched by the light of the sun and even mere daylight was supposed to be harmful enough to them! But there he was, in full sunlight and nothing spectacular whatsoever happened. Right…

"I know, but it's a strange perk, if you will," Arthur explained lazily, "for never having drunk anyone dry." He reached out and took the warm beverage from the other's hand and made a face upon observing the contents of the mug.

The American knew that it should have been something to feel relieved about, but a chill ran down his spine nevertheless as he remained standing in front of the vampire, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"It means I've never killed anyone," the vampire clarified boredly, not bothering to look up this time. "And this looks appalling, you know?"

The young apprentice drew a breath and then let it out slowly, a thin thread of steam escaping his lips before quickly dissipating into the air. He reckoned that it was a good idea not to press on the subject further – perhaps it was rather reassuring to know that Arthur was not _that _monstrous (one of the reasons why the bishop had kept him alive in the first place), but clearly… there was something his words were not quite revealing. Yes, perhaps he'd never drunk anyone dry, but hemost likely _had_ bitten people… For a moment, Alfred's imagination slipped into picturing how it would have been to feel those pearly white, sharp teeth on his own throat, piercing his skin and-…

He snapped out of it noticing that Arthur was now watching him intently, but then the other blond broke the stare and rolled his eyes. Thankfully, no snide comment followed, although he was sure that the vampire must have been reading his mind. He inwardly braced himself nonetheless, because _something_ was coming – namely the reason Arthur had asked him to come here.

"Well, now that you woke me up this early, you might as well show me how good you are," the Englishman requested, tapping his foot lightly against the log. He took a graceful sip of the mug and raised his eyebrows, expectant.

Alfred blinked. "How good I am at what?"

"Not at deductions, clearly…" the vampire served it to him promptly."Well, the other day you proved your skills in combat, but those are not really your weapons of choice, are they? You were trained mostly and fight best with pistols. I want to see a demonstration." He took another sip. "Besides, you should practice, shouldn't you?" he added, matter-of-factly emphasizing the validity of his demand.

The American almost gritted his teeth. What an incredible pain this man was! He'd actually meant to practice earlier – reason for which the twin weapons were sheathed at his belt – but now that Arthur had specifically requested it, the thought of practicing was suddenly annoying. But darn, he wasn't going to let the obnoxious little vampire think that he was doubtful of his own skills. He was good and he was going to prove it!

"Fine," he agreed, hands reaching down simultaneously and gripping the weapons. "Pick a target."

The Englishman pondered, letting his gaze wander around the back yard and then further, past the enclosing stone wall. "There," he said eventually, pointing to a tall fir tree located on the other side of the wall. The thick trunk rose well above it, the branches shadowing a good portion of the ground below. "Try to hit every single cone on that branch."

* * *

The little boy's nose was almost pressed onto the cold glass of the mirror he was looking through as the gunfire resounded rhythmically, Alfred taking turns with aiming with both hands as he squinted a bit to see the miniscule cones hidden randomly through the needle-like leaves. Behind him, Arthur stretched his legs a bit and then once more placed them one on top of the other while continuing to sip his tea, a smug smile on his lips as a couple of shots hit the trunk in full instead of their target.

"I like the American with the pistols," the boy said excitedly. "He's pretty good at it, don't you think, big brother?" he asked, turning and peering into the darkness which engulfed the rest of the large stone hall.

"Yeah… he is. But he'll make a light snack for Erzsebet and her lot, just like the others. Come, Andrei…"

The boy sighed and moved away from the magic mirror. His small, worn boots playfully kicked at a heap of dry leaves piled on the checkered floor as he trotted towards the back of the hall and his brother's outstretched hand. Pale, slender fingers wrapped around his tiny hand as he offered it, allowing himself to be pulled closer as the other affectionately caressed his messy hair.

"Before all this madness began no one knew of us," the older, strawberry blond boy said thoughtful, leaning onto the backrest of his plushy throne, the gaze of his ruby-red eyes trailing from the mirror to his little brother. "We've been very discreet. Almost no one has ever died at our hands, unless they got really sick afterwards, and even so, no one has ever known _why_. We've always done it in their sleep, no one's ever seen us, not a soul. There's never been any pain, any horror. Until Erzsebet… and her accursed Austrian!"

Andrei climbed up in his lap and rested his head against his shoulder, sighing again, but his eyes still glued to the mirror and Alfred's practice. "Is it so bad, then, Vali?" he asked softly.

"It is actually," his brother confirmed, in the same begrudging tone. "She left a trail of corpses in her wake and now – just like our insane Italian cousins who have driven the Pope up the wall with their antics - she's brought the dogs of the Church to our doorstep, to hunt us down like beasts."

The little boy looked up brusquely, in alarm, his eyebrows furrowed in concern and bright red eyes wide. "Are we getting scared, big brother?"

Valentin grimaced and stretched his left hand, examining his long, sharp nails with a blunt expression. "No, we are getting aggravated… In fact, I only see two ways out of this bothersome situation: one – we go out and slaughter them all – but that will be tedious work and quite useless, because the Church will just send more men, so we'll never see the end of this; and two – we will get rid of Erzsebet and her lover and once they are dead I believe everyone will be satisfied and there'll be no more trouble. After all, the Church dogs only know about _them_."

"But we can't, can we, big brother? We cannot kill our own kind!" Andrei pointed.

"Sadly, no we can't, or we would have done it a very long time ago and spared ourselves of a lot of mishaps," the strawberry blond agreed. "But perhaps we can find a way to help this young man you admire so, don't you think, Andrei? He's got quite the reputation and great hope is placed on him. So why shouldn't he be the one to save the day? Yes, we believe so…"

* * *

Alfred sat slumped in the armchair, a bit tired and mentally exhausted by the afternoon spent in the Englishman's company. He constantly found himself on edge around the other boy for some unknown reason – since he had nothing to fear really. No, it wasn't that, he realised as he watched the bishop fidgeting around the library again, it was because he almost instinctively struggled to figure the vampire out. Why though, he could not tell.

"Anyway, we must do something and we must begin somewhere," Braginski said, dropping onto his chair eventually, "so we might as well begin with this, da." He held up a piece of paper with an address and a rusty iron key. "As we talked before, it is important to know before anything else whether Roderich Edelstein too was turned," the Russian explained." But then again, there are very few ways in which that could be found out. We do know however that he used to own a house in town, in which he stayed when he visited the countess, back when they were both among the living. I was surprised to discover it, because I'd thought he'd used to stay with her at the castle, da. But no, it turned out that he wanted a house of his own around here –well, it's not a house, more like a mansion of sorts, fit for someone of his status. It's located in the town outskirts and it appears to have been abandoned ever since his death."

"And what are we to do with that?" Arthur asked, motioning towards the items the bishop was holding.

The priest shrugged. "Well, if he's still… 'around' so to speak, I figure he'd be still visiting his house, da. I want you two to investigate a bit. I've got the key – don't ask how – so I want you to go there and take a look around. The town's people think the place is cursed, so there's little chance anyone else could have been inside all this time. So if there is any indication that someone has been there recently, it can only be him."

Alfred gulped, suddenly stricken by dread. "But… what if he's there?"

For a moment the Russian blinked, seeming puzzled enough for the dirty-blond to suspect he hadn't considered this possibility at all. But apparently he had, though. "That's why you will be going in daytime and besides, Arthur will be with you, da."

The American's gaze swept over the vampire's lanky, fragile frame and his stomach cringed, all the more since he thought of the silver needles stuck into his body. They weren't visible now, concealed by clothing, but they were there, draining his magic and making him weak. That and he'd been told that the binding spells only allowed Arthur to feed on animal blood during the small periods of time he was allowed out to hunt – another downside as far as his strength was concerned.

"But… he is much stronger than Arthur, isn't he?"

"_You might want to stop talking about me like I'm not here!"_

"I thought of that, of course," Braginski said casually, pulling a thick book out of the pile on his desk. "That's why I will bind Arthur's powers to you. We'll take the needles out, but in exchange you will be completely harnessing his strength. With your will alone you will be able to release it to its full potential, da."

The dirty-blond boy nearly smiled at the idea of an actual bond between him and the Englishman, all the more since the idea had seemed so ridiculous to the other before. And the thought of having his power restrained by him must have irked the little vampire more than a little bit. Arthur didn't say anything to that – telepathically or otherwise – but he was sulking, that much was obvious. But it was also a great responsibility, Alfred realised – at the end of the day the vampire was a weapon he was supposed to wield just like any other. And the thought of confronting Roderich Edelstein... well, it was daunting to say the least.

"Then I suppose... we could manage," he said at last, while the other boy remained stubbornly silent.

Braginski sighed. "It is important to be discreet in this matter and this is the reason I'm sending the two of you alone – we really don't want to draw any unwanted attention. Therefore you'll pretend you are interested in acquiring the property if anyone happens to show up – hopefully no one will though – so that should work."

_Sure, it will be great to play a couple of loons who'd want to pay a lot of money on a haunted house in the outskirts, and which has probably also gone roughly out of fashion... Yes, perfectly reasonable too. _

"Now then, it's settled," the bishop concluded. "We should get to it."

_**To be continued **_


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

A/N – Hello my dear readers! Well, to keep it short for once with the tedious author notes, it's finally time to put my money where my mouth is... if you get my meaning. However, the whole 'scene' came out much longer than I'd thought, so it will be in two parts… So, if you haven't given up on this story yet, here it is. Enjoy ;)

* * *

The old carriage rattled a bit onto the unpaved road covered in frozen lumps of mud. Alfred gazed out the window from time to time, but even though it was only late afternoon the cloud-laden sky was quite dark. He had yet to see the small town located in the proximity of Braginski's parish house and couldn't wait for them to leave the black, leafless forest behind. The blond looked down at his clothes again – the bishop had made him wear a set of simple black robes, fit for a country priest and which could comfortably accommodate his pistols underneath. But the American could tell there was something wrong with them, maybe it was that he'd never worn full black before or... '_It's the face_' Arthur had pointed out '_you don't look like a priest, not even a novice_'. '_Yeah? And what do I look like?''Like a hired gunman in a poor disguise.' _At which point the Russian had gently intervened and put an end to the dispute by stating that neither priests nor hired gunmen really looked in any particular way.

On the worn seat opposite, the vampire sat sulking again, wrapped in a long black woolen coat purported to conceal his lack of adequate clothing for a supposedly wealthy young man. A little top hat - equally black - completed his outfit which contrasted with and complimented his fair complexion more than just a little bit. He looked tired though, being pulled from his sleep at such an hour and Alfred knew he'd needed quite a bit of rest after the brothers had worked to remove the silver needles from his body. He shouldn't have been in pain anymore, but the idea of having his powers restrained by Alfred probably annoyed the hell out of him, hence the rudeness from earlier and the current gloomy expression.

"Do you still think I look like a hired gunman?" the taller blond asked, not so much as to continue the argument from before, but as to take his mind off things to come. "Where did you get that idea, anyway? No one can see my guns, after all."

"Yes. Like I said, it's your face. "Arthur replied stubbornly, glancing out the window and refusing to meet his gaze. "It looks suspicious."

_Suspicious? _Alfred blinked a couple of times, then scowled. "And how would you know what the people in town will think of me? You've never even been in town – Father Braginski told me how your uncle kept you locked in his castle all your life!"

He knew he'd hit in full when the green-eyed blond's face fell suddenly, his eyes going wide with some unseen horror, but it all lasted for a mere split-second. "That's ridiculous, of course he didn't 'keep me locked in his castle'," Arthur said bluntly, sticking his nose up. "And don't think you know_ anything_ about my life! What's it to you anyway?"

"Maybe it's because you make such a fuss about being dead. A lot of people are dead, you know?"

But the vampire decided to ignore him this time and very soon the American's attention was drawn to the view as they finally entered the town. He stared in wonder at the houses of rather unfamiliar architecture and at the people going about their business on the narrow, cobblestoned streets, dressed in foreign garments the like of which he'd never seen before. It was a small town indeed, nested between two hills and it looked quite colorful and animated, a pleasant change from the relatively grim past couple of weeks.

Alfred couldn't help a smile at the thought, before noticing the vampire's frown as the latter stubbornly stared in his own lap, refusing to look at anything. A pang of guilt made his stomach cringe at the thought he'd offended-… no, he'd positively _hurt_ the other boy, and before the carriage left the town behind again and they reached their destination, he'd almost made up his mind to apologize. _Almost._

* * *

Roderich Edelstein's former dwelling was located on one of the hills towering over the town, foreboding in its size and peculiarity. But even after so much time, the mansion looked nothing short of impressive. The bricks had blackened and countless ivy strains had crept up the walls, like the embrace of a thousand dark skeletal arms, the wooden shutters covering the windows were rotten and some broken, grass and weeds had grown on the front steps and on outer windowsills. There also was a large terrace on the side, the top and sides covered by a beautifully decorated glass awning, but now the glass was dirty and broken in places, the iron wrought frames in the shape of sinuous grapevines eaten by rust. And still, despite its eerie and decrepit air, it still looked majestic and it reminded Alfred of some of the rich buildings he'd seen back in France.

But he could not waste time with such useless thoughts – the blond turned back to the carriage, throwing an inquisitive glance at his companion. Arthur had gotten out of it eventually and simply stood there, with his arms crossed, a clear scowl on his face. Behind him, down in the valley, the town unfolded in its entire cheerful, simple splendor under the pale afternoon sun and the American chewed on his bottom lip nervously, reminded of their earlier talk.

"You know, I was thinking… if we finish quickly, we might… I mean I might let you have a look around…" he said in a low voice, motioning towards the view.

The vampire's frown deepened, morphing into an almost openly hurt expression for a fleeting moment. "Look at _what_?" he retorted sharply, green eyes narrowed.

"Well around town, actually. If you've never-"

Arthur snorted loudly, before he could finish the sentence. "As if there were anything worth seeing! It's just a shit town!" His pale lips were pressed for a second as he inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly and looking away. "Now if you'd stop wasting our time."

_God, he's like a stubborn child…and I only wanted to help._ Alfred couldn't help shaking his head, sighing, but fortunately the smaller blond had already walked past him, towards the mansion entrance, digging in his coat pocket while he muttered something unintelligible.

"Disgusting! What a shit house! Has he lost his mind?! Thinking we could pretend to want to buy this dump!" the American heard him grumbling under his breath as he drew closer after dismissing the driver and watching the carriage start back down the hill slope towards the town. He rather thought it was a bad idea to have to walk all the way back on their return, but the man would not wait for them under any circumstances. It had been trouble enough for the bishop to convince him to take them to the place everyone thought was cursed and haunted by evil spirits.

In the meantime Arthur was still struggling with the lock which was obviously rusted on the inside, rendering the key they'd been given quite useless. Eventually, the Englishman lost his patience entirely and slammed his boot into the door – rather lightly as to not send it flying inside – and it swung open with a loud creak, disturbing ancient cobwebs and tearing up a few dried ivy strains. He then stopped, thoughtful, staring at the patch of light newly made on the checkered marble floor, now covered by a thick layer of dust and random dry leaves carried inside by the wind.

"What is it?"

The dirty-blond boy peeked inside too, taking in what was visible at a first glance. "There are no fresh traces of footsteps…" he stated, brushing past Arthur and making his way into the large hallway at the entrance. His eager gaze swept about the place - a crystal chandelier hung above, matted by dust and cobwebs, in front there was a broad staircase leading to the first and only floor and on the sides tall, sumptuous double doors opened to what once had been elegant drawing rooms. Alfred stared around in wonder, unable to help imagining how beautiful all these things must have looked once, when clean or polished. His steps carried him to the right and the American wandered into the vast room, squinting a bit in the dim light barely filtering through the cracks and holes in the closed shutters. Glancing at the large mantelpiece he suddenly felt the cold and rubbed his upper arms heartily a few times.

"What are you doing?" The vampire had accidentally leaned against the doorframe and now was hastily dusting off his shoulder. "He's not here."

The taller blond nodded. "I was thinking the same… it doesn't look like there's been anyone in here in ages…" he agreed, a bit sad at the thought that they had no reason to explore the mansion some more.

"Let's see what's upstairs," the Englishman said, looking up the staircase and his gaze resting for a moment upon the coat of arms on display on the wall where the stairs split in two different flights, to the left and to the right.

"But what could be-" Alfred hurried to catch up, regretfully leaving the beautiful drawing room behind. "If there's nothing here, not a trace, then what…" He paused curtly, frowning. Maybe it was a trap?

The green-eyed boy went up the stairs with light steps, glancing around carefully. His scowl had disappeared and now he simply appeared curious, if vaguely intrigued. He decided to go up to the left, without bothering to see if the other was following. At the end of the stairs there was a long corridor, but it was sunken in darkness.

"Strange, the smell of mold and dust is barely perceptible in here," Arthur observed, sniffing discreetly and peering along the corridor with several doors on the right side. He looked down at his feet, where his boot had stopped at the edge of a carpet. Kneeling slowly, he fingered the thick fabric, scowling again. "What the hell? This is rather new… and _clean_."

The American cringed, suddenly alert, his hands flying down to his two weapons as the other stood up and advanced, opening the first door. Weird enough, it was pitch dark inside, without a single beam of light. He heard the vampire tsking softly and his light steps as he disappeared inside, followed by some displeased grumbling.

"What are you doing in there?! Arthur!"

Alfred jumped, startled and squinted as the room was lit suddenly by a multitude of candles which apparently the vampire had lit by repeated snaps of his fingers. His breath hitched as he looked at the spacious living quarters, tastefully furnished with elegant sofas and armchairs placed upon a lush Persian carpet. Immediately he saw why there had been no light breaking in from the outside – the windows were completely covered by thick velvet curtains, apparently in that very purpose. Everything was perfectly kept and there was no dust anywhere. _Not good…._

Arthur now stood by a large piano placed in a corner, studying it with an unreadable expression. Then he sat down on the stool and lifted the polished lid, before lightly running his index fingers over a few random keys.

"Not even a bit out of tune… hm. I'd say _someone_ still plays at it." The green-eyed blond then ran his hand some more on the smooth surface on top of the instrument, as if in a bizarre caress. "Very well kept and not a speck of dust… someone is very fond of it, I think." He sighed.

The taller blond drew closer, curiously observing the rather unfamiliar instrument. It very remotely resembled the large pipe organ he'd seen in their church back in France, but the sound was completely different. "Do you like it?"

The Englishman snorted bitterly. "My uncle wanted me to play so he got me a tutor. He would always hit my hands with a long, thin stick every time I made the tiniest mistake. The backs of my fingers used to be so full of wounds that I wondered how come they didn't fall off or something."

Alfred's gaze darted involuntarily towards the vampire's pale, dainty hands now resting sheepishly in his lap. The milky skin was smooth like porcelain, unblemished.

"Your fingers are perfect," he blurted out without thinking.

"Yes… now that I'm dead, everything is perfect." Arthur murmured almost inaudibly, moving to replace the lid over the piano's keys.

The other boy could only bite his lip at this awkwardly, not finding any words to say, and quickly averted his gaze. His eyes landed on the large painting hanging right above the marble mantelpiece somewhere to his left and became immediately glued to it. It was a portrait in natural size of a man – the kind of thing he'd never seen before – and the depiction was so vivid that he could swear the man was going to start moving or speaking, or even step out of the frame anytime now.

It was the portrait of a young man with very black hair, fashionably ruffled a bit and dark blue eyes behind thin, gold-rimmed spectacles. His skis was as pale as the finest porcelain, contrasting with the midnight-blue velvet coat he wore, complimented by delicate silver embroideries around the collar and the hem of his sleeves. Yet despite his obvious beauty and elegance, the man had a stiff, rigid air, from the formal posture of his body to the stern look on his face and his eyes… The American squinted and took a step closer, paying close attention on how the candlelight reflected off the dry, finely cracked oil, in an attempt to figure out what was about those eyes that bothered him.

_There is something odd about him…_He took a step to the side, then another one and blinked. No, he couldn't have gone mad all the sudden or his own eyes to deceive him like this! No, Alfred was sure, the man was _watching him_.

"My God!" he murmured, still unable to free himself from the evil spell of those sapphire orbs.

Arthur, who appeared to have fallen into melancholy, rapidly snapped out of it and – having quickly read his companion's mind - rolled his eyes. "It's a bloody painting, Jones. Of course it's _not _looking at you!"

The dirty-blond swallowed and fought to turn around, away from the sight. "I-It's Roderich Edelstein, isn't it? He… um… he was quite young, wasn't he?" he pointed the obvious. "W-when he died, I mean."

"Indeed, I believe this is our man and yes, he was much younger than Erzsebet," the vampire confirmed, standing at last and drawing closer to observe the painting. "I suppose he appreciated experience in a woman. Or something…"

"How can you say this, so… coldly?" Suddenly the taller blond's temper flared again, reminded of the apparent indifference of everyone else to the gravity of this situation and which irked him to no end. "He's dead! One way or the other… He and his poor wife and his servants – all slaughtered in their home! They were innocent people! Do you not care at all?!" he nearly shouted.

Green eyes widened in genuine surprise at this and for a moment Arthur seemed to be simply choking with indignation. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a loud breath, before he promptly turned his back on the American and walked away a few paces, hands clasped behind his back and fingers twitching nervously.

"How the hell can _you_ say that?! How can you pity him?!" the Englishman spat eventually. "Were you not told what he was like? And… he's dead you say. Well guess what, everyone dies, but at least_ he had a life_, while he had it! He lived a lush life in Vienna, he studied music, he went to dances and parties, he went hunting, he had lovers and… and _he was free_!" Arthur paused, suddenly beginning to choke in sobs and his eyes filled with tears. "If _I_ had a lover, I would be… ah… grateful!" He paused again, breathing hard, sniffing and hastily wiping his cheeks and his nose with the back of his hand, with little effect as tears continued to spill and slide down his face. "And this man you pity had countless women and he ditched them all like broken toys and he _bloody brought this _upon himself and his wife and his servants when he kicked the wrong one to the curb! His wife was an innocent victim, his servants were innocent victims, but not him!"

The apprentice looked back at the painting, who now looked down at him arrogantly, appearing to mock him even and scowled. He would not admit it, but the Englishman's words had stirred some things inside of him, things he'd stuffed down years ago and which now came up again, to eat at him with renewed strength. _'He was free'_. Indeed, during his life Roderich Edelstein had been a free man, with a family, a name and a status, not an orphaned child stuck with his insane uncle or a bastard shunned by his own blood and forced to become a dog of the Church.

Alfred's fists clenched to his sides and he shook his head, trying to break free from these poisonous thoughts. "Come on, Arthur, I think we should-"

He stopped shortly when the vampire, who had collapsed on a loveseat still crying softy sat up, his eyes wide and alert, staring at the door. "There's someone in here." he murmured, his body tense like a bow as he slowly crawled off the seat and made his way back to his companion, gripping his arm.

"But you said he wasn't here!" the American protested weakly as Arthur dragged him away through the communicating doors leading deeper inside the house.

"It's not a vampire."

_**To be continued **_

A/N – 200 points for you (and a review to your story of choice if you're an author) if you guess who it is, based on what has been disclosed so far in the story ;)


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